B and me at Mesa Verde National Park, September 2011
I grew up without a mom. That’s probably one of the most defining characteristics of who I am today. I think who I turned out to be, for both the good and bad (though I think mostly for the bad), has a lot to do with the fact that I didn’t have much female influence (aside from my dad’s various girlfriends who attempted to temporarily fill the role) during my formidable years. It’s also something that makes me very sad, especially now as I attempt to fill that role myself.
I remember aching for a mother at times. I used to go to a friend’s house after school and her mother was always there, always with a snack to welcome her kids home from school. The house was always clean. The laundry was always done. And there was something tasty for supper (which they invited me to stay for often). She baked cookies at Christmas time and sent me home with a plate. She complimented me on my manners. She was kind. She was the epitome of motherhood for me. And I yearned for that. Of course I do realize now that “mom” can be so much more than the Donna Reed stereotype, but I still find myself remembering her and remembering how I so longed to have that for myself.
I would associate random things with “mom” like hands being wiped on a dishtowel after chopping up carrots, or a bathroom cabinet full of make-up, or pretty clothes hanging in the closet, or simply just how women smelled. I loved the way women smelled. When I was fourteen, I found some court documents from the custody battle my parents had over me that hurt me deeply and profoundly, especially in terms of just wanting my own mother, and I wrote a poem that started, “Give me the scent of a mother, which I can never have.”
It wasn’t until nearly a decade later that I really realized I could never really have a “mom.” The time had passed for me and that was just a fact of life. But I still haven’t gotten over it.
Healing comes in different ways, though, and I’ve discovered that B has, in some ways, given me this gift of embracing “mom,” though maybe not in the original way I had wanted. When he asks me to read a book, or nurse, or sometimes just wants to know, “Where mama go?” even though I’m just around the corner, I am reminded that I am this thing that I have idolized my whole life. And many times when he lets out a little, “mama,” sometimes for no reason other than to just say it, I’m reminded of this. I’m reminded of the fact that I can give B something so precious and so wonderful.
I can be his mom.
And I’m thankful.
So beautiful and well written. Especially poignant: your scent of a mother poem.
Hi Rebecca! I stumbled across your blog and shop for homeschooling Charlotte Mason style but decided to check out your “about me” section.
I have one other friend in my life that grew up without a Mom. I did as well.
My Mom died shortly after I turned 9. My Dad remarried less than 2 years later. What was a dream come true. For a while. I’m not sure what’s worse. Not having a Mom at all, or having someone in your life that was “supposed to” fill that role but never did. You see, for a decade, she emotionally abused me. Telling me nearly every day that I was the reason for all of her problems. Needless to say, it’s by God’s Grace alone that I’m alive today (I attempted to take my life a couple of times in High School). I, too share the same dream of having a mother brush my hair. My Mom did when I was a little girl, and she would braid it, too. Then the Lord took her home.
BUT GOD. It wasn’t until my adult years that my step mom apologized for the way she treated me when I was at home. At that point, I had already forgiven her in my heart thanks to years of counseling and therapy. Holding on to hate her was wasting me away, and the Holy Spirit softened my heart towards her and forgave her. It was like a HUGE burden had been lifted from my shoulders.
Even with that forgiveness and grace and redemption in my relationship with my Step Mom, who really is a wonderful Mother figure to me now as well as grandmother to my children, we don’t have the type of relationship where I can get a Mani-Pedi with her or just call her to chat.
It’s heartbreaking. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter (I also have a boy (4) and girl (18 months), I was so incredibly excited. It felt like God’s gift to me to cultivate the type of Mother-Daughter relationship I was craved and longed for during my pre-teen, teen, and adult years.
There are times where I still sob when I rock her to sleep, holding her close praying that I will be able to enjoy a healthy relationship with her. Be there for her to call and brush her hair and braid it. Have “The Talk” with her etc.
Anyway, I’m not sure why I’m prompted to share all of this with you, but I wanted you to know that you aren’t alone. Thank you for sharing your story as well as all of the wonderfully useful information you have on your blog. <3 Vanessa
Thank you for sharing your story, Vanessa. ❤️ I think our thoughts and feelings on this topic are very similar in many ways. And while I don’t wish these feelings on anyone, it is comforting to know that I’m not alone.